


reach, bet, try

by asexualizing (Specialcookies)



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018)
Genre: F/F, First Meetings, gut feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 18:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Specialcookies/pseuds/asexualizing
Summary: Fate, Debbie thought, was irrelevant.





	reach, bet, try

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt Ghost/Jacket/Crowd, Fluff i got on tumblr

Fate, Debbie thought, was irrelevant. Or so she made herself believe. One was never destined to end up anywhere, besides the place in which they wanted to have been. You played hard and worked harder and whatever you were working for is what you've ended up getting—this is how things worked. This is how they've always worked. As an Ocean, the only thing she believed in was herself.

Her father used to tell her that Oceans are destined for glory. Her bedtime stories consisted of legends of the past that carried her blood, of names that were whispered among thieves. There is honor in her namesake, and, her father said time and time again, Oceans are known for many things, but above all—they are known for their integrity. The kind of integrity people doesn't take lightly. We shed no blood, we con only those who deserve it, and we never betray our kind.

Debbie was taught that what she had in her was something to take pride in. Her mother would kiss the top of her head and tell her so. Her brother, when he wasn't busy rousing her temper, would bump her shoulder and say that one day, they are going to do great things.

She was taught how to read a room, practiced the swiftness of her fingers and the lightness of her feat and the sharpness of her ears; read enough to be absorbed by it but always her mind stayed where she was; tested words on her tongue until they fit what she wanted to project.

She was taught how to be an Ocean, because as much as it was in her since birth, and as much as her future was aligned, what mattered—actually mattered, changed the way she carried herself and what she searched for—was not her blood, but her mind.

She taught herself how to be an Ocean because as much as she could drop the ball at any second and go in the footsteps of her aunt Ida to be a homemaker, she wanted to be one. She wanted to prove herself as one.

It worked great, for a while, and then Danny screwed her over, like brothers tend to do, and now she's nursing a bourbon and a few bruises and the only thing on her mind are the rules that Danny broke, and how she's gonna get him back the next time.

"We play as if we have nothing to lose, kid," he told her, and then did just that, and to be fair to him, he couldn't have known about the unconventional intimidation tactics of this museum. She'd have to call about her share, though. Maybe it's time she stopped relying on him for jobs.

The bar is dimly lit, and Debbie's sight is blurring at the edges, but even in a semi-drunken state, she can be sharper than anyone else around her. She scans the place, bruises faintly pounding against her flesh, searching for a good watch to snatch and a good wallet to empty.

The ice in her drink is clinking against the walls of glass around it, and Debbie focuses of the consistent sound as she lets the space around her drown and the people within it come into sharp focus. There's a man making his way towards the washrooms in perfectly tailored Armani suit and Bulgari watch; another man wearing the latest Gucci loafers and chatting up a woman in a beautiful Yves Saint Laurent; a crowd of luxury and in the midst of it a woman, tall and taking up a good chunk of the space around her, leaning against a tall table with her drink and scanning the room in the same manner Debbie is, a leather jacket hugging her form and her lower body hidden by the people standing between her and Debbie.

She shouldn't, but Debbie sips her drinks, watching the woman, waiting to see what her move would be. She shouldn't, because she should be lifting a good watch off of someone, emptying a good wallet, shouldn't be as obvious as she is watching another thief doing her job, but that never happened to Debbie, before—trying to rob the same crowd as another con. At least, now knowingly. She has always wondered how people outside of her bloodline work, what do they look like when they steal and how do they think. So she watches the woman in the leather jacket scanning the same crowd as her, knowing that she should be taking over that crowd herself instead of letting another at her prey but more curious than hungry.

She watches as the woman finds her target, eyes turning sharper, as she pushes herself gracefully off the table and her demeanor becomes smaller, she turns herself invisible in a blink of an eye, Debbie almost losing her as she moves towards the man in the Gucci loafers chatting up a woman in a Yves Saint Laurent. She holds her breath and watches the body languages, the hands, the predator that is so close to her own kind yet so far from it. Debbie would have called her clumsy by her family's standards, but something works, something clicks, and as the woman is making her way towards her target, Debbie almost holds her breath, chews on her straw instead of on her fingernails and knows that the woman she is watching must be feeling Debbie's eyes on her, otherwise she wouldn't be worth a second of Debbie's time.

It all plays out in slow motion, as if it didn't take mere seconds. Debbie is already hoping that the woman would notice her by the time she does, locking eyes with Debbie with a smirk on her face and a wallet in her hands that Debbie catches her pushing into her own pocket.

There are ideas in Debbie's mind, not the kind of ideas she's used to having. Not the kind of plans she's used to making. No cons, nor money, nor big apartments. Not fame, nor her bloodline that matters, but moments in time that could have already happened, could just as easily happen in the future.

The woman locks eyes with her, smirking, and Debbie can see them locking eyes on the subway, or across the street; can see them passing by each other in a museum or buying the same hotdog from a stand in a street corner. They could have talked, deliberately or accidentally; they could have found out that they have this in common, thieving, deliberately or by accident; they still might.

The woman steps out of the crowd, and Debbie can see her, full body, full glory, blond and tall and with a leather jacket hugging her form and leopard heels and tight tight tight leather pants. She scans her like she scans a crowd and she doesn't know why she does this, she doesn't believe in fate but they can see them meeting anywhere, everywhere, all at once, and she can see timelines splitting like different stages of an elaborate move in an elaborate con.

She can see a future where she's lying in a bed with her head on a bony shoulder and her hand around slim waist, doesn't know what they might talk about, but they do talk; can see a future where they reach for the same watch and kiss it all away in a toilet stall; can see a future where she's feeding a smiling mouth off a fork; can see everything and nothing all at once, can see herself thinking about this woman for a few days, weeks, then forgetting she's ever existed, and something tugs at her chest.

And then the woman salutes her, turns away, Debbie trying to follow her as she disappears like a ghost in the crowd.

There are many decisions she can make, right now. There are many paths she can walk in, many futures that she can create, and fate might be irrelevant as opposed to Debbie's choices, but Debbie knows what kind of fate she wants to choose.

Leaving her tap unpaid, her drink undrunk, her hands empty of watches and wallets, Debbie follows the ghost of the woman, sight blurring at the edges, and still, she can be sharper than anyone else around her, and she is.

She doesn't run because Oceans don't chase people, but she finds her outside the bar as if she has been waiting. Maybe she has, maybe she could see exactly what Debbie has. Though maybe unlike Debbie, she doesn't need to hope to find a woman like her.

But she is there, and she raises an eyebrow and keeps the same smirk from before on, and Debbie approaches her in easy steps, tries to quiet down the flashes in her head as she says, "I saw that."

"I know you did."

"Sloppy."

"I have the wallet."

"You could have more."

The woman pulls a lighter out of her pocket, plays around with it and looks at the ground, kicking it.

"What's it to you?" she asks.

"I don't know, what's it to you?" Debbie counters. She needs to be indifferent, she thinks. She can't have her knowing.

_Knowing what? Who knows. Something. Something._

"Who said there's something to me?"

"You waited."

A beat. A laugh. A shake of the head.

"I did."

"Then maybe I can help you," Debbie reaches, bets, tries.

"And what if it's the other way around?"

"Then I guess we'll find out." The woman raises her gaze, locks eyes with Debbie as she did inside the bar, like a lifeline, and Debbie breathes in, out, reaches, bets, tries. "I'm Debbie."

The woman chews on her bottom lip, looks Debbie up and down with a curious expression. Then she extends her hand, smiles something softer as Debbie takes her palm. "Debbie," she repeats, tongue lingers around the name. "I'm Lou."

"Lou," Debbie repeats, and there's another tug at her chest when Lou's eyes soften to the sound of her own name on Debbie's tongue, another tug at her chest as Lou's hand slide out of hers.

"You live around here?" Lou asks, suddenly, her voice different than the teasing tone of before.

And Debbie doesn't need to wonder, not really, but she does, "Should I trust you?" even though her guts rarely speak, and so she trusts them, at least.

Lou sticks a cigarette in her mouth, shrugs. "You followed me."

"You waited."

"Then maybe that's enough."

Debbie smiles, watches a cloud of smoke cover Lou's face as she lights up her cigarette, and she knows without a doubt that later Lou will light one in her bed, and Debbie would steal it.

And maybe that knowledge is enough.

"Follow me," she says, and Lou does.

**Author's Note:**

> i am also on [tumblr](https://straperine.tumblr.com/) if you need me!


End file.
